Chapter 7: The Unfortunate Consequences of Looking Cool

You ever had one of those instances where you do something cool purely by accident, and instead of people just nodding and going on, they suddenly expect you to be a genius? 

 Yeah. 

 That was me right now. 

 I had made one slightly-too-smooth move during sparring, and now my father—former war hero, currently terrible man—had decided that I required personal training under his watching, terribly rigorous eye. 

 I wanted to shout. 

 Not outwardly, of course. I had an image to maintain. 

 But internally? 

 I was wailing like a dying chicken. 

 "Tomorrow morning," Father stated, his strong voice final. "You will report to me at sunrise." 

 Sunrise. SUNRISE. 

 This was a true nightmare. 

 "Of course, Father," I responded, attempting a grin but dying inside. 

 Sarin was grinning like an idiot. "Oh man, you're so screwed." 

 "Shut up." 

 "No, really, this is great. Finally, someone else will know my suffering." 

 My great, caring older brother, ladies and gents. 

 I trudged back to my room, fell onto my bed, and stared at the ceiling. How had this happened? 

 Right. Because I got too excellent, too fast. 

 This was exactly what I had been hoping to avoid! 

 I sat up, took a deep breath, and did what I always did in a crisis. 

 I halted time. 

 Everything went utterly still. The flickering candles froze mid-flicker, the distant sound of waves from the port town halted like they had never existed, and the world became my personal playground. 

 I stretched my arms. Alright. 

 If I was going to endure my father's training, I needed to prepare. 

 First step? Studying exactly what I was up against. 

 I snuck into my father's study (a poor idea under normal circumstances, but entirely fine when time had stopped) and flipped through his old war records. 

 Yeah. Bad news. 

 The man had led over a hundred battles, personally taught some of the strongest knights in the empire, and even had records on specific interrogation tactics. 

 …Wait. 

 Why did he need questioning techniques? 

 … Never mind. Not thinking about that. 

 I sighed, scratching my temples. This was going to suck. 

 Alright. Next step. 

 If I couldn't avoid training with Father, I could at least make sure I didn't embarrass myself. 

 So I did what any sane person would do. 

 I grinded. 

 For the next several subjective weeks, I trained. 

 Sword swings. Footwork. Breathing control. Strength exercises. 

 By the time I eventually let time run again, it was still the same night in the real world, but I had moved beyond what should be humanly conceivable in just a few hours. 

 I smiled. Perfect. 

 Tomorrow morning, Father would see a slightly-better-than-average noble kid. 

 Not a monster. 

 Not a weird. 

 Just someone "naturally talented" enough to make improvement at a believable pace. 

 And so, with my precisely planned plan in mind, I went to sleep feeling confident. 

 Then morning came. 

 And I immediately regretted everything. 

 — 

 "Too slow." 

 THWACK. 

 The wooden training sword smashed against my shin, and I barely managed to bite back a very un-noble-like scream. 

 This wasn't training. 

 This was torture. 

 I had calculated everything. I had planned perfectly. 

 So why was my father moving like a freaking demon? 

 I ducked left, tried to counter, and— 

 THWACK. 

 There went my wrist. 

 "Sloppy," Father remarked, his voice as serene as ever. "Again." 

 I wanted to cry. 

 Somewhere off to the side, Sarin was observing. Drinking tea. 

 "Enjoying yourself?" I murmured between swings. 

 "Oh, very much," Sarin responded, smirking. "This is the best entertainment I've had in years." 

 I despised him. 

 I took a long breath, attempting to refocus. 

 Okay. New plan. 

 Instead of attempting to keep up with him, I should fight like I was still an inexperienced noble youngster. Play the part. 

 So I purposefully made several awkward but plausible blunders. 

 Father's sharp eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't comment. Instead, he merely nodded. 

 Better. 

 After another half-hour of this, he finally lowered his blade. "That's enough for today." 

 I almost collapsed. 

 Sarin whistled. "Not bad, little brother. You survived." 

 I groaned. "Barely." 

 Father glanced at me with that unreadable gaze of his. Then he just remarked, "Come to the study later." 

 Oh no. 

 Had he seen through me? 

 I nodded, trying to stay calm, and departed to go suffer in quiet. 

 — 

 Later that night, I entered my father's study. 

 He was seated at his desk, sipping a glass of wine. The moment I came in, he signaled for me to seat. 

 I obeyed, feeling like a kid called to the principal's office. 

 There was a long stillness. Then— 

 "You've been working hard." 

 I blinked. "Uh… yes?" 

 Father sipped his wine. "You're talented. But talent alone isn't enough." 

 I sat up a little straighter. "I know." 

 "Good." He laid his drink down. "Then I'll ask you this. What is your goal?" 

 …Huh? 

 I hadn't expected that question. 

 I hesitated. "What do you mean?" 

 "You clearly have potential," he added. "You could become a fine warrior. Or a strategist. Or even a mage, if you applied yourself. So what is it that you want?" 

 I gulped. Careful, Manjil. 

 "I… just want to be strong enough to protect myself. And the family." 

 It was a safe answer. nor too ambitious, nor too weak. Just enough to sound like a respectable noble heir. 

 Father observed me for a long moment. 

 Then, to my shock—he smiled. 

 It was small. Faint. Barely noticeable. 

 But it was there. 

 "…A good answer," he finally said. 

 I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. 

 Then, Father stood up and proceeded to his bookshelf. He brought out a heavy, ancient book and placed it in front of me. 

 "Read this." 

 I looked at the cover. Advanced Combat Theory & Tactics. 

 Ah. 

 Of course. 

 I slapped on a smile. "Thank you, Father." 

 "You'll train with me again tomorrow morning." 

 "…Of course, Father." 

 As I exited the study, book in hand, I noticed something. 

 I had won. 

 I had successfully convinced my father that I was merely an industrious noble heir, not some time-stopping monster. 

 Sure, training sucked. 

 Sure, my muscles were screaming. 

 But at the end of the day? 

 I was playing the long game. 

 And I was winning.

I had successfully convinced my father that I was merely a naturally talented aristocratic heir and not some kind of gigantic time-stopping aberration. 

 That should've been the end of it. 

 A normal parent would've remarked, "Oh, you're a gifted child? Great! Here's a pat on the head, enjoy your easy life." 

 But no. 

 Instead, I got daily personal training sessions under the Varun Roy, former war hero and the most intimidating man I've ever encountered. 

 And I was dying. 

 Not literally, of course. But my muscles were on strike, my brain was fried, and I was quite sure my soul had filed for early retirement. 

 Every morning, Father would pull me to the courtyard before daylight and proceed to beat the ever-living snot out of me. 

 "Again." 

 THWACK. 

 I winced as my wooden training blade was struck clean out of my hands. 

 I shook out my hurting fingers and grabbed it up again. "Yes, Father." 

 From the sidelines, Sarin sipped his tea and grinned. "This is great entertainment." 

 I shot him a glare. "I hope you step on a toy sword later." 

 He raised an eyebrow. "You can do better than that." 

 "You're right. I hope you step on two toy swords." 

 Before Sarin could retort, Father replied. "Focus." 

 I quickly straightened up. "Yes, sir." 

 I took my stand again. This time, I made care to look like I was struggling just enough to be real. Not too competent, not too clumsy—just the proper amount of "gifted but still learning." 

 And yet, despite my careful acting, Father's piercing eyes stayed set on me. 

 "You're learning quickly," he continued, his tone unclear. "Suspiciously quickly." 

 I forced a shaky chuckle. "Uh… good genes?" 

 Silence. 

 Then, to my relief, Father simply nodded. 

 "Perhaps." 

 Crisis averted. 

 For now. 

 — 

 That night, while the rest of the household slept, I sat in my chamber with a book on advanced swordsmanship open in front of me. 

 Not that I was reading it. 

 Instead, I was focused on something much more pressing. 

 The Academy Entrance Exam. 

 A week before, my father had made an announcement over supper. 

 "You'll be attending the Imperial Academy next year," he had added. 

 I had frozen mid-bite. 

 Academy? As in the Imperial Academy? The site where the strongest aristocrats, warriors, and magicians in the empire trained? 

 Crap. 

 I had been so concentrated on putting up my act at home that I had entirely forgotten about this section of the story. 

 In the original novel, the Imperial Academy was one of the most competitive institutions in the empire. And the entrance exam? Brutal. 

 You weren't just tested on skill—you were tested on everything. 

 Combat. Magic. Intelligence. 

 And most importantly? 

 Potential. 

 If you showed enough promise, aristocrats, professors, and even significant factions would take an interest in you. 

 Which means I had two difficulties. 

 One: I needed to pass the exam convincingly without looking too suspicious. 

 Two: I had to avoid attracting too much attention. 

 I couldn't afford to fail. But I also couldn't afford to stand out too much. 

 A tough balance. 

 I sighed, running a hand through my hair. 

 "Alright," I mumbled. "Time to prepare." 

 I halted time. 

 And then, for the next several months in frozen time, I trained. 

 Combat? No problem—I had been pounding that for weeks previously. 

 Magic? … Yeah, that was still a mess. 

 While my mana control had improved, actual spellcasting was an altogether different beast. 

 Basic reinforcement? Passable. 

 Fireball? A calamity waiting to happen. 

 Healing magic? Let's just say if I ever tried to heal someone, they'd probably require additional healing later. 

 But I didn't need to be amazing—I simply needed to be good enough to pass. 

 So, I practiced. Over and over again. 

 By the time I let time flow again, I was totally exhausted, but I had finally attained a fair level in magic. 

 Not enough to wow anyone. But enough to not fail. 

 And it was all I needed. 

 The Academy Entrance Exam was imminent. 

 And I was ready